


Friday Night with G. E. McGregor

by marguerite_26



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin gets the opportunity to meet his favorite author, but G. E. McGregor is not at all what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Night with G. E. McGregor

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/profile)[**novemberlite**](http://novemberlite.livejournal.com/) , [](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/profile)[**snegurochka_lee**](http://snegurochka-lee.livejournal.com/) , [](http://nympha-alba.livejournal.com/profile)[**nympha_alba**](http://nympha-alba.livejournal.com/) with brit picking by [](http://cassie-black.livejournal.com/profile)[**cassie_black**](http://cassie-black.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Originally posted Nov 18, 2011

Merlin wove through the crowded corridor, twisting his way through the bodies pouring from the lecture hall until he spotted a flash of blond.

"Arthur!" Merlin ducked past a gaggle of girls planning their Friday night and ignored the knock to his shoulder as one of Arthur’s burly mates squeezed by him.

"Merlin Emrys! Just the lad I was looking for." Arthur greeted him with a smile that did not bode well for their upcoming project. Merlin’s jaw tensed, guessing what was coming next. "Change of plans about tonight."

Shaking his head, Merlin cursed ever deciding to take Anthropology and landing himself partners with Arthur Pendragon.

"Must go to the Bombshelter tonight. Can’t miss it." He fiddled with his rucksack, not meeting Merlin’s eye. "You know how it is."

"Arthur, the project’s due _Monday_. You’ve been putting me off for two weeks. I’m not going to fail this assignment just because I had the misfortune of being paired with you."

"Merlin." Flashing a broad grin and wrapping his arm around Merlin’s shoulder, Arthur tutted at him. "You need to relax, get out. You know... you should come tonight. It’s right up your alley."

"But the project!"

"The project will be done on Saturday. Preferably after a good lie-in and some Paracetamol."

"No. Absolutely not." He didn’t fit in well with Arthur’s mates and the thought of spending a night feeling awkward in a crowd of fit, rich tossers was hardly incentive.

"Look, Vivian’s mad about G. E. McGregor. You know him, right?"

Merlin rolled his eyes at the thought of Vivian being capable of even scratching the surface of G. E. McGregor’s work. McGregor was without question the most compelling author Merlin had ever read, mind blowing philosophical introspection that left the reader feeling like they’d always known the answer and yet forgot the question somewhere along the road to adulthood.

"Of course I know G. E. McGregor."

"Well --" Arthur leaned to whisper, "Rumour is that he’ll be at The Shelter tonight."

Merlin snorted. "I highly doubt _that_." The man never made public appearances, let along popping by a campus pub for a pint.

"He’s on campus. He did a lecture in Gwen’s Sociology class on Monday. Gwen told Morgana she overheard him saying he wanted to check out the Bombshelter because it was an old haunt."

Merlin frowned, trying to make sense of it. "He studied here?"

"Yeah." Arthur shrugged. "I guess?"

"He’s pretty private about his life." Merlin wracked his brain for what he knew of McGregor. He’d never included an author picture on his books, didn’t disclose his age, never did interviews. It must have been quite something for the Sociology class to have him do a lecture. Merlin would have to beg Gwen for a copy of her notes.

"Anyway." Arthur waved his hands in the air in that way that meant he was brushing aside a conversation that ran too long for his liking. "Once Viv found out, she was dead set on going tonight."

"And naturally, you are following along as an excuse to get out of our Anthropology assignment."

"Yes. Glad we understand each other." He clapped Merlin on the back, making Merlin stagger and scowl in equal measure. "You should come! Laugh at the girls drooling over the elusive G. E. McGregor."

"Drooling?" He couldn’t picture Vivian or Gwen ever drooling over a man, let alone some grey-haired, tweed-wearing literary genius. Merlin on the other hand... he shook his head at that disturbing image. Maybe just chatting over a pint would be nice, but he’d probably panic and go speechless. "I don’t know."

"Whatever you want." Arthur had begun walking briskly through the now empty hallway and Merlin jogged to keep up. "But Saturday is booked for the anthro project. Saturday _afternoon_ – or I won’t be held responsible for my mood."

"Fine! Noon sharp. My room?"

"Well, you’re the lucky shit who scared off his roommate during Fresher’s week."

"That was not my fault!" Merlin yelled, but Arthur had already bolted out the door to the quad.

Merlin headed to his dorm room, a tiny closet of a thing -- but Arthur was right that he was lucky to have it all to himself. The second bed housed everything and anything that Merlin couldn’t fit on his desks or in his closet. Gwen had once said if Will hadn’t panicked after his first lecture hall experience, living with Merlin’s shit _everywhere_ would have done him in.

He flipped onto his own unmade bed, and before his head hit the pillow, his thumb was dialling up Gwen. "Heard you were going to The Shelter tonight."

"Morgana?"

"Arthur."

"Of course." He could hear Gwen huff a quiet laugh into the phone. "Vivian nearly screamed my eardrums to shreds when she found out about McGregor."

"So it’s true then?" Merlin asked. Anticipation fluttered in his stomach as he began to honestly believe. "He’ll be there?"

"That’s what he said. If you’d have returned my calls this week you’d know that."

"Sorry, PoliSci essay was killing me. I only dragged myself out of the library this morning." Merlin cursed not checking his voicemail earlier. "But you met G.E. McGregor!"

"I did!" Gwen squeaked.

"It seems funny, you know, thinking of G. E. McGregor at a pub, at the _Bombshelter_. Like bumping into Professor Millbury at _The Trash Room_."

"Um." Gwen paused. "Not quite like that."

"No. This is worse, or weirder. I don’t know... he’s _old_."

"Okay?" Gwen didn’t sound so sure. "Not really. I was surprised to see him so young, actually."

"Really?" Merlin tried to change his image of the man but couldn’t quite manage it. "Interesting."

"So you’re going, then?"

Merlin paused for a moment, but he already knew that adrenaline had taken over all higher brain functions. "How can I not? I’ve always wanted to meet him. Will you point him out to me? Though I guess he won’t be hard to pick out of the usual Shelter crowd."

"That’s for sure."

Merlin smiled to himself, picturing a distinguished man in a smoking jacket holding a pipe, surrounded by the grunge of the Bombshelter.

"Meet you there at nine, alright? Save us a place in the queue if you get there first," Gwen said.

"Just you, though! If Arthur shows up again, I’m not letting him queue jump. Even if he’s Morgana’s brother, he’s a dick."

"Merlin!"

Merlin laughed. He loved teasing her. "Bye, Gwen."

By 8:45 Merlin’s room was a disaster. He’d tried on his entire wardrobe but everything said either teenage kid or hipster wannabe. He settled on skinny jeans and a faded Jack Daniels t-shirt. It was still a bit ‘barely legal’ but better that than a poser. Everything McGregor wrote oozed with his hate of false pretences.

The pub was always packed on Fridays, and tonight the line to get in was hardly moving. They’d managed to be only a couple dozen people from the entrance. The underground bar had never actually been a bomb shelter. Situated in the basement of the campus centre, the interior was exposed brick, a small stage, a bar and few wobbly tables. It was dark and dusty and otherwise just empty space – and it was one of Merlin’s favourite places on campus.

Gwen looked at the time on her mobile. "Tonight’s band must be popular. We’re usually in by now."

Merlin glanced at the front of the line to check their progress and saw a bloke walk straight up to Jimmy the doorman and chat with him for a moment, all wide grin and broad shoulders, his eyes crinkling as he laughed.

Merlin scowled, knowing exactly what was about to happen – nice hair, nice arse and a flirty smile – Jimmy didn’t stand a chance.

Just as Jimmy opened the door with a nod, Gwen squeaked.

"McGregor!" she gasped, looking around quickly to make sure no one heard. "He looks so different! I’d hardly recognise him!"

The man flipped his shoulder length hair off his face in a dramatic swoosh and mouthed a ‘sorry’ to the gathered line before slipping through the open door. Merlin tore his eyes away as Gwen’s words filtered through.

"He’s here?" He searched the crowd, not really knowing what he was looking for, but his gut told him he’d _know_ when he saw McGregor.

"Damn!" Gwen lifted up on her toes to see the front of the line. "Looks like they let him in already."

"How did I miss him?"

"Miss who?"

Merlin turned back to see Arthur slip into line behind them to a series of groans and curses from the people he’d pushed in front of.

"Is he here? Have you seen G. E. McGregor?" Vivian said, over enunciating the name. She slipped her arm around Arthur, blond curls bouncing as she vibrated with excitement.

Gwen shushed her, leaning in to say, sotto-voce, "I got the impression he did _not_ want to draw attention to himself. He didn’t exactly announce to the class he was coming here."

Arthur snorted. "So how is it you found out, exactly?"

Gwen fidgeted, eyes on the ceiling as she admitted in a tumble of words, "I overheard him on his phone." She looked at Merlin, a mortified expression on her face. "Not that I was intentionally eavesdropping. I just –"

"It’s okay, Gwen." Arthur cut her off, lips in a teasing curl. "We’d have all done the same. Well – not me because I don’t give a shit about this bloke."

"Arthur, I’d be impressed if you could even read a table of contents--" Merlin side eyed him as he spoke. "--let alone a McGregor novel."

Vivian snorted, then quickly covered her mouth. "So did you see him?"

"Yeah." Gwen looked over at the closed pub door, pouting. "He went right up to Jimmy and was let straight in."

"Figures," said Arthur.

"So," Vivian said, grabbing Gwen’s hands between her own as though they were dear friends and not passing acquaintances only because Gwen was friends with Arthur’s sister. "Is he as cute as you remember?"

Gwen looked between Merlin and Arthur, forehead crinkled. "Well, he was in a cardigan, clean shaven and his hair was in a ponytail when he lectured on Monday. Tonight he looked completely different. I wouldn’t have recognized him if I wasn’t looking for the hair."

Merlin’s mind stuttered to a halt. "You mean the bloke that I just saw talking to Jimmy? With the hair?" Gwen nodded. "And the smile?" Gwen nodded again. "And the nice arse?"

Vivian snorted again, but Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off Gwen who was staring and him, still nodding. But it couldn’t be. The bloke couldn’t have been more than thirty. And he was fit. Really fit. He looked like the men Merlin stayed as far away from as possible. Blokes like Arthur, gorgeous and confident and well aware of how far their smile could take them.

Merlin stood quiet, contemplative, as the line trudged forward. McGregor had been his intellectual hero since the day Merlin first read _Castles Built of Sand_ when he was fifteen. The author’s stand against mendacity and pretence had defined Merlin’s formative years. It had got him through the torment of his teen years, the shame of being different – being gay and awkward, with sticky out ears and more interest in grades than football matches.

It had been the lone voice of reason and logic, speaking of inner beauty and disparaging the superficial.

When Jimmy finally waved them through there wasn’t a free seat in the pub. The band was already setting up. The tables by the stage were filled with tattooed, leather-wearing upper years, each with thin pink neckties around their bare necks. It had to be some show of support for the band, Merlin assumed.

Arthur made a bee-line for the corner traditionally reserved for the loud and obnoxious, bulky-muscled athletes. Vivian looked longingly back at Gwen (her only hope of finding McGregor) before allowing Arthur to tug her along.

Merlin was at the bar, waiting to get his and Gwen’s drink order in when Gwen rammed an elbow into his ribs.

"Hover dare," she mumbled, barely moving her mouth.

"What?"

Gwen rolled her eyes and nodded her head to the end of the bar. "Over there."

Merlin casually drifted his gaze over to see Leon, the owner of the Bombshelter, talking to the guy with the hair from earlier. Leon must have said something funny then because McGregor flipped his hair -- _flipped his hair_ \-- and laughed, patting Leon’s shoulder.

Merlin looked at Gwen, pleading, "Are you _sure_?"

Gwen gave him a tight lipped nod and a grin that said _sorry_ or possibly _just accept it_.

Merlin was staring outright after that despite Gwen’s rushed whispers to stop being so damn obvious about it.

It didn’t matter though, because Merlin was in some sort of state of shock as he watched McGregor smile and wink as a woman approached him. He turned her down with a self-deprecating grin, but it was clear from the way she’d leaned forward, brushing her chest against his, that he’d had an offer.

_Christ_. He was everything Merlin hated about the world. Everything G. E. McGregor had taught him to hate – the way all eyes in the room seemed to float to the beautiful people, the confident, the rich. And the son of a bitch was all those things. And he fucking hid that from the world. From Merlin.

Merlin wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there scowling but suddenly Gwen tapped his hand, wished him luck and walked away (taking both their beers with her). When he looked around, confused as to what had just happened, he spotted McGregor headed straight for him.

"Are you staring because you like what you see, or because you know who I am?" McGregor leaned one elbow on the bar and appraised Merlin.

"Yeah." Merlin said, embarrassed at being caught staring and still simmering with indignation. "I know who you are."

"Recognised your friend from my lecture." McGregor nodded over to Gwen. "I thought I’d get away with one night but I guess not."

Merlin stuck his hands in his pockets. A nervous habit, his mother had always said. "Guess not."

McGregor’s eyes searched his for a moment before saying, "I couldn’t tell with the way you were looking at me if you were debating with yourself whether to say hi or throw a punch."

Merlin balked at the directness, kept his head bowed, and let all the bitterness seep into his voice, saying, "I’m not sure what to think anymore." Then unable to stop his own curiosity, he peeked at McGregor to catch the reaction.

"Oh." McGregor’s lips turned down. "You are one of _those_." With a sigh, he raised his beer in a mock salute and turned away. "Have a nice evening."

"One of those _what_?" he snapped, stung at the dismissal. He raised his arm to stop McGregor from leaving, but didn’t dare actually touch the man.

McGregor turned back, a twinkle in his eye and his lips curled into a smirk. "One of those readers who love the idea of _G. E. McGregor_." He said the name with such flourish Merlin cracked a smile. "Only to be disappointed with the face that goes with it."

"Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your face," Merlin blurted out and at McGregor’s raised eyebrow, he ducked his head to hide his blush.

Smirk gone, McGregor stepped up beside Merlin. Their shoulders brushed. The pub was crowded now, over hot. Merlin could feel the sweat pooling at his lower back, beneath his thin tee and at the waistband of his jeans. McGregor leaned in to talk to him, his breath warm on Merlin’s cheek. "But the face doesn’t match what you had in your head, I’ll bet. You were expecting what -- tweed? A pipe?"

Merlin looked up, laughter at himself bubbling in his chest. "At least a pipe. I got the beard right, though."

McGregor grinned, scratching at his stubble. "Yes, a very distinguished five-day scruff."

Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. When their shoulders brushed again, McGregor didn’t move away. "I’ve read them all, by the way. Every last one."

McGregor looked him up and down as though debating whether or not to believe him. "That’s a lot of books for a teenager."

"I’m twenty. And you must have already been writing by the time you were my age."

McGregor nodded. "Yes, but I had to grow up fast." A look crossed his face that Merlin could never hope to understand, but it disappeared behind another quick smile. "Sorry – I shouldn’t have – people make too many assumptions about ages."

"Is that why you’re so secretive – no pictures, no age, no bio?"

McGregor shrugged, took a sip of beer. God, he looked like a model or a football star -- someone in the prime of his life, the world at his feet. It was hard not to hate him on principle, and Merlin would have, if he’d found a trace of smugness. Instead, the word _charming_ popped into his head and he found he didn’t want McGregor to walk away just yet.

"I’m Merlin, by the way." Merlin held out his hand, hopeful.

McGregor looked at it, then at Merlin’s face. "Gwaine. Pleasure to meet you, Merlin."

_Gwaine_. Merlin let out a shaking breath. _Wow._

"Relax, Merlin. I’m just _Gwaine_ , yeah?" Gwaine released Merlin’s hand, still keeping close and looking at Merlin like... well like not many people have ever looked at Merlin, like he was a puzzle they wanted to solve.

Merlin wiped his palms on his jeans, stared at an odd-looking knot in the wooden floorboard at his feet and said, "Sorry but even you not being my favourite author in the world, you’re still really intimidating."

"Oh yeah?" With a broad smile and a wicked gleam to his eye, Gwaine inched into Merlin’s space. "And why’s that?"

Merlin cleared his throat and hoped it was rhetorical. To his right he saw one of the few small booths the Shelter had tucked in along the walls was emptying out. Gwaine caught his eye and nodded. They slipped into it before anyone else could grab it.

"Back in a tick." Gwaine stood and Merlin thought that was it, he’d disappear in the crowd. But he was back in another moment, two pints in his hand.

"Cheers," he said, lifting the glass as Gwaine pushed one forward.

"So – what’s your story, then? Everyone has some reason for reading my books." Gwaine finished the pint he’d been drinking earlier and set it aside."Your favourite lass say no when you asked her to the Fresher’s Ball and it threw you into a deep emotional crisis?" He looked at Merlin, calculating, as though hoping to be proved wrong.

"Not even close." Merlin thought a moment, shredding a Guinness beer mat.

 

"Well," Gwaine said, taking a sip of his beer. "No pretty lady being mooned over then?"

"I’m not much for ladies." Merlin shrugged. Took a long sip, letting the bitter loosen his tongue. "No broken hearts either."

Gwaine waited, seemingly content to let Merlin answer properly, or not. It made Merlin itch to explain.

"I’ve just always been different. Never enough money, not fit enough, not coordinated enough. I just never found my place." He shrugged again. "Your writing -- well, it spoke to _me_. As though you were seeing inside me. As though you’d been there, surrounded by people who judged you on nothing that really matters. Just a bunch of fake arseholes."

Gwaine’s eyes were trained on him and Merlin had to look away. It was a bit ridiculous talking about the superficiality of the world to a man that looked like _that_. He took a drink, stomach rolling as he tried to swallow his disappointment.

After a long pause, Merlin’s words hanging in the air between them, Gwaine sighed. "I don’t do this."

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. "Do what?"

"I don’t ... _meet_ people who know who I am. Who can talk to me about my books." His voice was thick, honest. "I did the lecture this week as a favour to an old professor who was good to me when I was just getting my thoughts to paper. But I don’t – I’ve never really heard anyone talk so personally about the effect my writing had on their life."

Merlin smiled weakly. "Well, I’ve never done this either." He raised his glass, let it hover in front of his face a moment. "I’ve never had a drink with a man whose books have been hidden beneath my pillow since I was fifteen."

Gwaine let out a low whistle. "Fifteen’s too young to read anyone as cynical as I am."

"No!" Merlin surprised himself at his own vehemence, then added, quieter, "No, I don’t think you’re cynical. Your writing gave me hope that the world didn’t need to be ruled by the rich and beautiful. That it was us that gave them that power, and we can take it away."

"But now you think I’m a hypocrite because I’m not seventy with age spots and long grey nose hair."

Merlin didn’t know what to say. Was _he_ the hypocrite in the end for judging Gwaine for his looks, when Merlin had hoped for a kindred spirit who understood not fitting in?

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Gwen giving him two thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. She was mistaken.

"Your friend seems happy for you."

"Oh God. She probably thinks we’re hooking up or something."

"We’re not?" Gwaine held a straight face until Merlin’s jaw dropped open then he laughed in delight. He tapped Merlin’s cheek with a fond look. "You’re a peach, Merlin. Your every thought is written on your face. No pretence."

"I hope not _every_ thought."

Gwaine barked out a booming laugh and ordered another round.

They spent another hour chatting and when the band started, they sat and listened and watched the crowd. Gwaine pointed to the rugby team gathered in one corner.

"This could be ten years ago," he said. "The rugby team all sat in that same spot, spitting distance from the bar and still a perfect view of the ladies on the dance floor. Anyone who dared take their spot would be walking home with a broken nose and a few bruised ribs. And there, by the stage, the groupies."

Merlin watched, amused, as two women danced by the speakers trying to get the singer’s attention. It looked like they were pretty successful.

"Nothing’s changed. I’d bet good money that the steps on the other side of the back door are filled with kids smoking weed, bobbing their heads to the beat, bitching about the government, our unjust society or just why the music’s shit tonight."

Merlin covered his mouth to hide his chuckle, because he’d passed that group a dozen times leaving the Shelter and Gwaine was spot on. "You mean they’ve always been there?"

" _I_ was there. I’ve been at the stage, been the one to punch the Fresher for taking my seat."

"You didn’t!"

"I did. It was my favourite seat." Gwaine shrugged like a half-arsed apology. "My point – and I have one – is that life’s too short to let someone pigeon hole you. The world is full of stereotypes but you don’t need to fit yourself into one."

The words settled under Merlin’s skin, making it feel tight. It was that same self-awareness he got from reading McGregor’s books, challenged to look at himself when he’d rather look at everyone else for answers of why his life was what it was.

Gwaine seemed to recognise his discomfort and changed the topic to the pink ties. Merlin half listened to the history of how it had come to be a fashion while his eyes strayed around the room. There were groups of people circled protectively around each other. Others flitted about the pub like butterflies never stopping at one group for long, and he wondered if ten years from now he’d look back and see it all differently.

As the night progressed, their alcohol consumption slowed to an even pace, just enough to keep a buzz and soften the edges around the world. As he relaxed into the low rumble of Gwaine’s voice, Merlin realised he was spending far more time staring at Gwaine’s eyes than watching the crowd. He was nursing the dregs of his third pint when Gwaine suggested another round.

"I really shouldn’t. I have this project due Monday and that arse right there," he said, pointing to Arthur talking with Vivian (who was _still_ looking around the pub, pouting at the lack of recognisable authors), "has put it off until this weekend."

"Hmm. He’s pretty fit."

"He’s pretty straight." Merlin pressed his lips together, cursing the looseness of his tongue when he was a bit tipsy.

Gwaine smiled at him, eyes crinkling. "Pity," he said, though the look in his eyes as he stared at Merlin didn’t sound at all disappointed.

Merlin cleared his throat, uncomfortably hot under Gwaine’s gaze. "I’m done for the night, but you can have another. I’ll order a glass of water."

"I’d better stop too." Gwaine shook his head, pushing away his empty pint. "I’ll need to drive back to the hotel tonight."

"Oh." Merlin wet his lips. "You could ... stay at mine. I mean I have a room in halls." He couldn’t believe the words even as they were still tumbling in a rushed mess from his mouth. "You wouldn’t have to drive. If you didn’t want to." He winced, horrified at his own patheticness.

Gwaine’s eyes widened. "Are you trying to get me into your bed, Merlin?"

"Oh, um." Merlin’s hands flailed, knocking over his own empty glass. He and Gwaine both reached over to right it, hands knocking. With a nervous giggle, Merlin snatched his hand away and rambled on: "My room has two beds. Double room and no roommate and I should have mentioned that at the beginning and... I wasn’t implying you and I..."

"Pity." Gwaine winked.

Merlin opened and closed his mouth a couple times before blurting out, "But the spare bed is buried in stuff."

Gwaine laughed, full bodied and rich, and Merlin warmed all over. "Well, I’d hate to put you out, having to move all that stuff."

It was on the tip of Merlin’s tongue to say _no trouble_ when he caught the heat in Gwaine’s eyes and understood. "It is a rather lot of stuff."

Gwaine stood, looking at Merlin expectantly. Brain kicking into gear embarrassingly slow, Merlin jumped to his feet. He looked around for Gwen but she wasn’t in his immediate sight. He wasn’t sure what protocol was for moments like this – he’d never pulled before. Christ. But he wasn’t ready to leave Gwaine’s side in case this strange bubble of _perfection_ they were in suddenly burst. With a silent vow to call Gwen in the morning, he nodded to Gwaine and followed him up the stairs through the main door of the Shelter.

The cold night air was sobering, a brisk wind on Merlin’s heated cheeks that made him keep darting looks at Gwaine to see if he’d changed his mind now that they were both a bit more clear-headed. But Gwaine only gave him a soft look and a smile, knocking his shoulder and asking how far.

Merlin looked over and saw on the back stairs of the Shelter sat half a dozen students under a tell-tale grey haze. Merlin laughed, bumping Gwaine’s shoulder and nodding for him to look.

Gwaine winked. "I loved uni."

Merlin thought for a moment, trying to figure out what was bothering him. "You said you didn’t let yourself be pigeon-holed at uni, that you broke through the stereotypes."

"It wasn’t all that glorious."

"And yet with your writing, you’re not honest with your reader about who you are."

Gwaine stopped, eyes wide. He looked stricken for a moment, like Merlin had actually punched him. "Is that what you think?"

Merlin shrugged, mumbling, "Doesn’t matter what I think," and kept walking, heart pounding in his chest until he heard Gwaine jog up beside him again. Merlin heard a soft whisper float across this distance between them: _It matters to me._

Merlin cocked his head to the side, unsure what to say and not wanting to drag the conversation on; his point had been made and Gwaine would do with it what he would. The fact that Gwaine hadn't walked away yet, had sat and listened to Merlin's ramblings like they held value to a man like G. E. McGregor was honour enough.

Gwaine was quiet, seemingly lost in thought, then his fingers slid up the back of Merlin's neck as if coming to a decision about something. They remained like that with Gwaine’s warm fingers trucked into the collar of Merlin’s t-shirt as they made their way across campus.

Ten minutes later, they stumbled into Merlin’s dorm room, rosy cheeked and giddy with anticipation. Gwaine eyed the two beds, one unmade and the other piled with Merlin’s entire wardrobe, all last semester’s books and topped with a stuffed platypus that smelled strongly of Will’s cologne (to remember him by, Will had said).

"My roommate dropped out right after Fresher’s week." Merlin raised his arms, defensive. "I had nothing to do with it." And he hadn’t, Will was just flat out too lazy for university and had bailed while he could still get most of his tuition back.

Gwaine chuckled. "Wouldn’t dare suggest it." He leaned against the sink that was tucked in behind the door and gave Merlin a wolfish look. "Well now that you have me here, Mr Emrys, what do you plan on doing with me?"

Merlin took one look at the heat in Gwaine’s eyes as he looked Merlin over, head to toe, and panicked. He flitted around the room, trying to pick up dirty clothes from the floor, clear off a chair and make the bed all at once.

"Hey," Gwaine whispered, grabbing both Merlin’s wrists, stopping his whirlwind cleaning. "It’s fine."

"Sorry, I’ve never –" Merlin looked around, clutching his laundry to his chest. "I don’t – I wasn’t expecting to take anyone back here."

"That’s good." Gwaine’s voice was soft, the predatory look gone. "You have every reason to be choosy."

Gwaine’s thumbs pressed slow, lazy circles at Merlin’s wrist. If it was meant to be soothing, it was anything but. Merlin’s pulse thundered through his veins until he was trembling, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing next.

"I’m honoured that you invited me," Gwaine breathed, warm against his cheek. Then Gwaine was kissing him, a gentle press of mouth, as his lips spread into a smile. The clothes in Merlin’s hands tumbled to the floor.

The warm tangle of Gwaine’s hand in his hair set him on fire as he was urged forwards. Their lips brushed again, and the kiss opened, their tongues grazing. Heat curled low in Merlin’s belly at the wet slide of Gwaine’s tongue, the solid muscle of Gwaine’s chest pressed to his, chasing away his panic.

"Breathe, Merlin."

"Easy for you to say," Merlin huffed, swaying a little.

"Hardly." Gwaine’s exhale was shaky, his fingers unsure as they tugged at the hem of Merlin’s shirt and he slipped warm hands around his waist. "It’s been a long time since I met anyone half as delightful as you. And longer than that since I kissed someone who knew my full name."

Merlin smiled, emboldened, and tugged his shirt over his head.

Gwaine pulled back to strip his own shirt then looked his fill at Merlin. "Fuck, you’re gorgeous."

Merlin giggled, a bit hysterical at Gwaine standing there with his perfectly chiselled chest, saying that Merlin (who was thin, all pale skin and too-visible bones) was fit. He traced the indents of Gwaine’s flat stomach, the taut muscle quivering beneath his hand.

"I would never have thought the man who wrote such profound words could look like you," Merlin admitted, embarrassed. _It is unavoidable that our heads are full of misconceptions._ The quote popped, unbidden, into his thoughts. Before he could stop himself, he said the quote back to the man who first scribed it.

Gwaine smiled, providing the rest: "But we’re best judged on how easily we allow them to be shattered."

It was the inscription inside G. E. McGregor’s latest. The words felt different now, aired between them like this as Merlin was lead to the bed and laid on his back.

His fingers buried in Gwaine’s hair as Gwaine bent, sucking small bruises above Merlin’s nipple. Merlin urged him on, wanted the reminders for days to come. He whimpered as Gwaine moved lower, his teeth grazing Merlin’s hipbone.

Gwaine stood, watching Merlin through a curtain of dark curls, and asked, "May I?" his hand hovering over the zip of Merlin’s jeans.

Merlin nodded, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He was hyper aware of every second, every touch, cataloguing it for the many times he would want to recall this moment.

Gwaine stripped him down with a couple of rough pulls on his jeans then shed his own clothes. He didn’t hesitate before climbing onto the bed.

The warm slide of naked skin stole Merlin’s breath and a rush of nerves hit Merlin as he realised what would happen next.

"Do you--" Merlin’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. "Do you want to fuck me?"

A moan slipped past Gwaine’s lips and he pressed his forehead to Merlin’s shoulder, exhaling a ragged breath before kissing Merlin’s cheek. "Another time, yeah, I would love to." His fingers curled at Merlin’s waist, as though wishing the words back.

Merlin looked up, confused. He was acutely aware of the hair below Gwaine’s navel tickling the tip of his cock, the weight and heat of Gwaine’s erection pressed against his thigh.

Gwaine just shook his head. "Not tonight. Don’t ever sell yourself short, Merlin. You’re worth working up to."

Before Merlin could argue, before he could say that there may not be another time, and they both knew it, that they needed to make the most of _this_ time, Gwaine was kissing him again like he was trying to find his own resolve.

"Lie back," Gwaine said, kissing the words down Merlin’s chest.

Merlin shifted up the bed so his head was on his pillow. Gwaine licked and bit every inch of Merlin’s chest, working his way downwards until his lips wrapped around the tip of Merlin’s cock.

"Fuck." Merlin tried not to buck his hips but Gwaine’s mouth – Christ, that mouth – was a thing of beauty. His tongue teased the underside with tiny licks then circled the head. Gwaine’s hands held his hips in a loose grip, allowing soft little stutters forward as Merlin fought back the urge to thrust.

Merlin’s hands went to Gwaine’s hair again – it was soon becoming their favourite place to be – and with a gentle push down, he whispered, "Please." And the next second, the world stopped with the hot slide of Gwaine’s mouth as Merlin’s cock was enveloped completely.

There was no cataloguing any longer, no precious memories filed away, nothing but sensation stripped of everything else as Gwaine pulled off and sank down again. The rhythm was fierce and steady, a constant tight heat, miles from teasing touches. Gwaine wasn’t trying to draw this out any longer; he was trying to shatter Merlin. It didn’t take more than another minute or two at that pace, with the tip of his cock knocking the back of Gwaine’s – fuck, _G.E. McGregor’s_ – throat, before Merlin was spilling into his mouth, choking him with it, the warning cut off in a strangled cry.

"Shit. Shit. Sorry." Merlin cursed, still trembling through the aftershocks. He dragged Gwaine up the bed, licking the drop of come from Gwaine’s bottom lip and wincing at the bitterness. "I’ve never, I didn’t have time – I’m sorry."

"It’s okay," Gwaine whispered, nipping along Merlin’s jaw as he rolled his hip against Merlin’s thigh, his length hard and slick.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Gwaine closed his eyes and thrust again, dragging the wet tip along Merlin’s thigh. "Just a second, I’ll take care of this."

He shifted back, onto his knees between Merlin’s spread legs and began to stroke himself in hard, quick swipes.

Merlin rose to his elbows, committing _that_ scene to memory, before reaching down. "Let me," he said, joining Gwaine’s hand with his own, though the angle was awkward.

"That’s ... nice," Gwaine moaned, crawling further up the bed so he straddled Merlin’s waist, leaning forward with his weight on his elbow so he could kiss Merlin. "You have beautiful hands."

The angle was better. Soon Gwaine was thrusting forwards and all Merlin had to do was keep a tight, steady grip and let Gwaine fuck his hand. Merlin closed his eyes and enjoyed the pistoning cock between his fingers, strong thighs working at his waist, Gwaine’s hot breath at his shoulder and the rhythmic thud of his headboard bouncing against the wall -- yes, it was an easy stretch of his imagination. He was already thickening in interest, drifting to hopeful thoughts of _someday_ , when Gwaine tensed. His body trembled as hot come splattered Merlin’s chest.

When he looked up, Gwaine’s face was a mixture of shock-pleasure, mouth open, cheeks glistening with sweat. Merlin stretched forward and kissed the tip of Gwaine’s nose. Gwaine blinked in down for a stunned second then with a breathy laugh, kissed Merlin soundly.

When Gwaine finally rolled off, Merlin grabbed his discarded tee and wiped the worst of the mess off his chest. He didn’t bother asking Gwaine to stay, just pulled up the covers and snuggled in against him for the night, hoping he’d be understood.

One of Gwaine’s hands wrapped around Merlin’s waist while the other snuck under Merlin’s pillow. "No books, you little liar," he mumbled, half asleep.

Merlin snorted. "It was a hyperbole! They’re on my bookshelf."

Gwaine lifted his head to half-heartedly look over to where Merlin was pointing. "You used a hyperbole to lure a man into your bed, Merlin? Do you have no shame?"

"None." Merlin beamed, leaning over to turn off the light.

"Perfect," Gwaine muttered. He pulled Merlin a bit tighter and was snoring before Merlin could say another word.

o0o

Merlin woke with a warm weight across his chest and loud banging at his door. He blinked his eyes open at the dim grey of the room. Rain pounded against his window. With a sigh he slipped out of Gwaine’s embrace.

He grabbed a pair of boxers from the clothes scattered around the floor and rushed to the door just as the banging started again. He pulled it open a crack, wondering who the hell was dragging him out of bed, away from the loveliest lie-in he’d ever had.

Merlin found Arthur standing at his door, his hand still raised to abuse the door further. He was dripping wet, a half dozen books in a precarious pile in his free hand.

Before Merlin could even get a word in, Arthur began, "I know it’s past noon but Viv got pissed last night after she didn’t get to meet McGregor, and I had to get her to her room and the whole night was a right mess. I didn’t get to sleep until six and then I dragged myself out of bed to go back to my dorm, grabbed everything for the project and ran over here in this bloody _rain_. So excuse me for being a little late, okay?"

Merlin stared, mouth open, trying to catch up.

Arthur’s brow crinkled and he looked Merlin up and down. "You were sleeping?"

"Um."

Arthur barked an over the top laugh; the books in his hands teetered dangerously. "Oh my God, Merlin! For all the guilt trips you lay on me. _Noon sharp_!" he mimicked. His laughter echoed down the empty corridor. "I thought you weren’t opening the door because you were in a snit about me being late."

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly aware that he likely had a love bite or two if Arthur looked close enough. Not to mention the itchy flakes of dried come that he could feel across his belly.

"Yeah," he whispered, resisting the urge to look behind himself. "I need to get dressed. Come back in half an hour, alright?"

Merlin went to close the door but Arthur shoved a foot out to stop him. "I’m not walking all the way back to my room in the pouring rain just to walk back here in ten minutes. I’ll wait."

Merlin looked back, panicked as Gwaine rolled over and caught his eye. When he turned back, Arthur’s eyes widened.

"You have someone in there, don’t you?" Arthur tried to push the door open further, poking his head into the room. "Ha! You pulled last night and they stayed over, didn’t they? Merlin, you dirty dog!"

"Arthur!" Merlin shoved him back, hating that there was no way he was going to get the door closed if it came to a battle of strength against Arthur.

"Is there a problem here?" Gwaine’s breath grazed Merlin neck and a shiver ran down his spine, making him lose his grip on the door and Arthur come tumbling into the room. As Arthur scrambled to his feet, Merlin glanced to Gwaine, silently thanking him for at least slipping on a pair of boxer briefs. But he cursed they way they clung to his thighs, arse and package like he might’ve been the model on the box.

Arthur took in the sight of Gwaine, eyes wide as dinner plates.

"Hello." Gwaine raised his eyebrows as though Arthur were the one nearly naked.

Arthur gathered his composure quicker than Merlin would have given him credit for, sticking out his hand. "Hello. I’m Arthur. Merlin and I had a date this morning," he said, eyes lit with mischief.

"A _study_ date," Merlin corrected, rolling his eyes at the natural trouble maker that was Arthur Pendragon.

"A pleasure." Gwaine grinned with lots of teeth, shaking Arthur’s hand. "Gwaine McGregor," he said, slipping his hands around Merlin’s waist.

"McGregor?" Arthur looked, mouth gaping, between Merlin and Gwaine.

Gwaine hummed and kissed Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin felt Gwaine’s groin press against his arse, and cursed the thin material of his boxers which would hide nothing if Gwaine continued to hold him like that.

"Okay!" Merlin squeaked, twisting out of Gwaine’s hold before the situation got any more embarrassing. "So, half an hour. Okay, Arthur? Sorry that I totally forgot."

"He was distracted."

"Gwaine!"

"You’ve got nothing to hide."

"Still doesn’t mean everyone needs to know everything!"

"Doesn’t it?"

"Um?" Merlin felt lost for words, like they were having a conversation about something else.

"Make it an hour." Gwaine winked at Arthur, promptly directing him out the door, then pinned Merlin against it with a bang, kissing him breathless. "I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet."

"Yeah. Okay." Merlin wrapped his arms around Gwaine’s neck, his mind still spinning. "That was weird. I wasn't expecting you to introduce yourself."

Gwaine pulled back, serious for a moment, his forehead pressed to Merlin’s. "I like that you expect me live up to my own words. Maybe I need someone to call me a hypocrite when I’m being one."

"I never meant—"

"I know you didn’t." Gwaine kissed him, nuzzling his neck and making it impossible to think. "Doesn’t make it less true."

"Can we… see each other again?" He held his breath and tried not to look like the world depended on the answer. Twenty-four hours ago Merlin was living happily without this man – he’d manage again. But it would still feel like he was cutting a conversation short when it had barely begun.

"I'd like that. I need to be reminded of who I was when I started writing. Before I bought the pipe." Merlin choked on a laugh as Gwaine kissed a trail across Merlin's shoulder.

"You think some young lad could teach you a thing or two?" Merlin asked, his voice jagged with emotion. Then he kissed Gwaine again with less desperation this time, letting himself hope that this might be more than just one great night.

Gwaine slipped his hands into the back of Merlin’s boxers, dragging him closer. "Absolutely." They rocked together and let the world outside melt away for awhile.

\- fin - 

  


**Author's Note:**

> [Link to LJ post](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/616240.html)


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